


captive

by drmsqnc



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, bit of a run, or run home, unfortunately home was kind of across the sea at this point, you wanted to sock him in the face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drmsqnc/pseuds/drmsqnc
Summary: As Washington’s daughter, when you were kidnapped, you should have expected it.





	captive

**Author's Note:**

> Princess Augusta, King George III’s mother, died three years before the start of the American Revolution, but events have been changed to match the oneshot.

“You have a letter Mr. President.”

“What?” George’s tone was harsh, unforgiving. The man delivering said letter jumped in alarm and George sighed, calming himself down.

“I’m sorry,” His voice was tired, dark purple bags lining themselves underneath his eyelids. He brushed a hand up his face, sighing deeply. The man had been having the worst few months in his existence. His daughter,  _his precious girl,_ had disappeared right under his nose. There was a full watch sent out, a large sum of money being given to anyone who could bring you home.

Of course many people had tried to bring forth people who looked similar to you and get the reward, but George wasn’t an idiot. He knew his daughter down to the very quirk of your lips.

But it had just passed the benchmark of three months. Rumors had started to brew in the streets. What if you had simply run away? George had dismissed such claims  at the beginning but now he began to worry. Had he been hard on you? Was it the revolution? Did you truly feel suppressed enough to run away from him?

“Well?” He asked, becoming irritated again at the man who had hesitated to step forward.

“Ah…we haven’t opened it out of respect for your privacy but…” He bit his lip.

“Be curt young man!” George pursed his lips. The man winced.

“It is signed from King George III,” The man swallowed.

George felt his world stop.

_What._

“And? Bring it forward,” He reigned in his absolute shock in mind of his company. The man placed the letter on his desk before saluting and exiting the room on rushed legs.

“Poor lad,” George muttered, trailing the edges of the letter with his fingers. Such an innocent envelope, yet looking to hold the weight of the world.

He took in a deep breath to steel himself and opened it slowly, unfolding the paper.

_Washy!_

_Hello old pal! It has come to my knowledge that you are growing funnier than ever, rounding up that little army of yours. I have no doubts in who will win this petty little war you’ve started, but I suppose it would be good to have a few cards to deal with on my side in case of any surprising and impossible_ _forth-comings_ _._

_I looked into every corner of your life, and I came to find something I never noticed before. It was too interesting for me to simply put aside, and so I’m afraid I had to take it. What was the little thing’s name? Ah yes! Y/N was it?_

_Don’t worry about her. I delayed this letter to give you ample time to lose your wits in search for her in a land where she no longer stands, and so by the time this arrives I am confident you would be quite hysterical. Delightful isn’t it?_

_So yes, I have her, she’s my hostage, blah blah blah. I’ll be keeping her I’m afraid until I have you successfully back under my colonial rule. She misses you terribly I think, won’t stop blabbing. Although she did become rather quiet of late….do you suppose I’ve broken her?_

_Anywho_ _, I give my utmost preeminent regards!_

_Toodledoo_ _!_

**_Your loving ruler,_ **

**_King George_ ** **_III_ ** ****

George stared. He let his eyes roam over the ink twice, five times, ten, till every word had been memorized, till he was sure he hadn’t let anything go by.

His hand holding the parchment shook, something burning in his nose and wetly behind his eyes. Intense worry and despair flooded his senses before it was replaced by a burning anger that made his vision go red.

His fingers tightened into a fist, crushing the letter with one action, now shaking for another reason entirely.

“General?” A commander knocked briefly before entering. “The ranks would like to know if- General?”

George’s eyes were covered by the shadow of his own face before he looked up, and the commander stiffened, feeling ice cold fear run through him at the bloodthirsty fire encompassing those usual warm brown orbs.

George smiled, and it was feral. “Gather the men.”

* * *

Your nail scratched down the wall.

The coarse, uncomfortable feeling no longer bothered you as it had the first time, and you gazed blankly at the tally mark finishing the five. The entire east corner of the room’s wall had been covered in similar tallies, one each day, leading up to where you now stood.

“Day 120,” You murmured, not bothering to push back a lock of hair than invaded your line of sight. One more day, and you would have been here four months.

Four months.

Four months without the American soil beneath your feet. Four months without so much as a glimpse at the blue sky. Four months without your father’s gummy smile.

At first you’d been thrown into a cell. After being drugged and carted over the sea for days, you awoke to captivity. You had been provided little food, no warmth, staying in the same dirty clothes for weeks. You had freaked out more or less, keeping yourself sane with delusions that someone would be coming to save you.

But nobody came.

And soon logic overtook your emotions. Why would they? No one knew where you were, so how could they possibly rescue you? And even if  _King George -_ you thought the name in disgust - sent word over to the west, it would be at least 4-6 weeks before a letter could even travel that far.

So you stopped your sniveling, put your chin high, and reminded yourself that you were the daughter of the  _goddamn general of America_ and you would  _not_ break.

The moment you’d stopped being overly sentimental, you were transferred to this room. It was utterly different than the dank, dark tomb of a cell you’d been objected to for weeks. It was prim, proper, had a king sized bed, fitted with a dresser and mirrors and curtains that looked to be more expensive than your life. Servants came in and dressed you in magnificent gowns, complete with makeup and the standard white wig on top your head. The minute they left you tore it off.

What almost made you shatter was the shower that you’d been able to take. You vowed to not give in to whatever game he was playing, but didn’t object to taking an hour long bath with the lavender soap in the cubicle.

They had hot water. Hot  _water._ Was this a magical kingdom?

You digress.

Of course you knew what was happening. He must have wanted you to develop some kind on Stockholm Syndrome towards him, where you’d be lathered in positive attention after dark treatment and grow an attachment to him.

Yeah right.

You might be a woman, but you weren’t an idiot, no matter what majority of men may believe about your gender.

“ _Y/N~”_

There he was.

You had heard the calling so many times now that you could distinguish it from five miles away. The amount of loathing that came over you was enough for you to want to change your name just so that you wouldn’t have to hear it ever again in that doting tone.

The door creaked open, but you didn’t turn around.

“Y/N~!” The voice was more crisp, clear, endeared with a British accent you had been taught to despise. “I see you’re still marking the walls!”

You didn’t open your mouth.

“The silent treatment again?” You could practically  _hear_ the pout in his voice. “It’s gotten old now, dear. What must I do to get you to talk?”

The bed creaked and you knew he had fallen down languidly on the mattress, but you kept your vision aligned with the wall.

“Should I pry that pretty little mouth open?” He mused. You shivered at his words. Your father had had you at a  young age, barely nineteen. He had described you as a ‘miracle baby’, but all that meant was that he hadn’t expected to have you, and you knew it. You didn’t even know who your real mother was, but you had long since forgiven him for that. He was young and made a mistake. At least he didn’t abandon you.

Added to the fact that King George was almost ten years younger than your father, the king was actually not lengths away from your own age, which disturbed you on too many levels to comprehend.

“Or maybe cut those fingers off till you scream?” He continued, now talking to himself, unaware of the effect it had on you. Or was he? “Anything would be better than this annoying childish behaviour.”

Childish?  _Childish?_

You had to restrain yourself to not pounce on him the instant.

“Though I guess I could just send word to old Washy that I killed you. That would surely send him to his grave with worry.”

You broke.

“Don’t you  _dare,”_ Your voice was heavy with anger as you whipped around. Widened chocolate eyes regarded you in surprise, a grin stretching across flawless skin.

“Ah so she speaks” He exclaimed giddily. You immediately wanted to calm up again, but it was of no use. You had already given him his victory.

“What are you here for today?” You asked, even though you knew. Its what he came for everyday. As a King you would think he had his schedule full, but he somehow made time every single day to come and pester you for the same thing.

“Oh you already know darling. So why don’t we make this easier on both of us?”

“I’m not becoming a spy for you,” You muttered, voice robotic. You had repeated the words so many times it was second nature. “I will not become a prostitute or anything of the matter. I definitely will not give you any information regarding the plans of my father for the war-”

“-and I will not succumb to any of your wishes,” He finished for you, rolling his eyes, and lolling his head back, shifting into a more comfortable position in which he could still see your face. “I know the drill princess. Then what good are you for?”

Your mouth shut. The playful tone had been sucked out of his atmosphere entirely at the last sentence, his eyes alight with something hypnotic, menacing, intimidation slamming over your head so quickly you froze up entirely. You were sure you were about to be sentenced to death then and there, but then he was back and the monster was gone, a smile lighting up his face, forming tiny dimples along his cheeks and crinkles around his eyes.

“I’m just messing with you!” He said, getting up from the sheets and patting your back roughly. You flinched at the touch, deciding to scrub extra hard in the tub today. “I do hope you change your mind tomorrow! My patience does have a limit.”

You were given a glimpse at the insanity that lay beneath the surface of the cheer and exuberance as his gaze flashed something predatory before he was literally prancing out of the room, humming a catchy tune underneath his breath.

You collapsed onto the wall as soon as he left, your mask gone as you put your face in your hands. A shaking sigh left your mouth as you shuddered, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming onslaught of moisture that flooded your eyes.

_Dad, please come quick._

* * *

The door opened.

You glared at the recent tally mark of 130. “You’re here early today. What? Got bored with terrorizing innocent subjects?” You could be killed for your talk to such an important figure, but you knew he wouldn’t harm you, and frankly you didn’t care. You knew he needed you as a ransom.

There was no answer, and you turned around in confusion, just in time for him to wrap his arms around you.

Panic flared within you but only skyrocketed as he dragged you down to the mattress. You kicked at him frantically, assuming the worst. No  _no_ you weren’t ready, you weren’t for use, he couldn’t take this from you  _you wouldn’t let_ _him-_

Confusion sprouted next as he didn’t lay any perverted touches on you, simply keeping you tight in his hold and burying his head into your hair. The soft but ragged breathing told you he was awake, but you didn’t dare move if he was unstable. You’d witnessed his absolute insanity before, and you didn’t feel like being at the end of it.

But why was he doing this? Was this another tactic?

But then why was he  _shaking?_

So you stayed still, highly attentive, until he relaxed against you and his breaths evened out. Against everything you were, you let him hold you, ignoring the waves of revulsion rolling on your skin. You absentmindedly eyed a pair of scissors on the dressing table. You could easily slip out of his hold and stab him before anyone knew, take the life of the man who had ruined yours.

The thought ran through your mind another time before you disregarded it. Not now. Not only did you think you wouldn’t have the ability to actually bring yourself to commit the act, but killing someone in their sleep was probably the most cowardly of cowardly acts.

 _Does cowardice really matter when you are a prisoner?_ A voice whispered temptingly from the dark abyss of your mind. You crushed it.

You were not that type of person.

It was only later when you had been left alone again without a word from the king, that you discovered what had happened. There were hushed talks among the servants, the nobles outside your door.

The king’s sick and weak mother had finally died of laryngeal cancer in her sleep.

You were unsure how to feel.

At one end you absolutely wanted to have no feelings of remorse or pity towards George. But on the other you were far more concerned of why exactly he had come to you for comfort.

Why you? Were you not a mere captive?  A hostage?

Then you looked back. Every day.  He had visited you every day. You couldn’t bear to admit it, but even you grew used to his visits, and came to expect them with some anticipation. (If only to imagine ripping those pretty eyes from his skull). He must have grown attached to you at some point as well.

Could he have possibly grown a….liking towards you?

The thought was ridiculous but the evidence proved otherwise. And if so…if so…

You grinned slowly at your reflection in the mirror.

Maybe you weren’t the hostage anymore.

* * *

He continued to come. Earlier and earlier every day. You didn’t change your attitude towards him too quickly, knowing that you had to concoct your plan slowly in order for there to be no suspicion whatsoever.

But you ever so slowly changed the game. You began to face him when he came in instead of away. You let your hand ‘accidentally’ brush against his side. You made an effort to look presentable when he came in.

You even ripped a small piece of your mask away to allow yourself to give him a real smile once.

And you could feel him beginning to turn into putty in your hand. Your father would be proud of you, you thought. For tricking the enemy so well.

(Or would he? Allowing yourself to manipulate another so easily?)

And one fateful night, when George was tired, and it had been a hard day on him, and your eyes had been shining so brilliantly in the light of the candle-

You did nothing when his lips came down on yours, merely tightened a fist behind your back and brought the other to gently touch his cheek.

Hook, line, and sinker.

You had turned the tables successfully. You had him under just as much control as he thought he still had you under.

It was funny really.

You began to think of ways to escape. It had taken you so long to get him to trust you, but maybe a few more months and he would let you go outside, and then from there you could begin putting out plans to get back home.

Home.

The word seemed so far away, and yet so close.

_America, wait for me._

* * *

One evening you were sitting upright the headrest on the bed, George’s head on your shoulder, the room silent. It was the rare occasion his customary royalty wig wasn’t on, and his soft brown curls brushed against your cheek.

He looked much better in your opinion. Not that you cared.

“Y/N?”

“mm?”

His eyes stared into space, as if he was seeing something you weren’t.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a minute you felt dread tinge your tongue. He hadn’t figured you out had he? You forced yourself to calm down. “Doing what?”

“This,” He shifted his eyes so that they were boring into yours, and it was as if he was unraveling your very soul. “I thought you had accepted this to ask of something of me, or try and grasp your freedom, but you’ve done nothing of the sort. What do you hope to accomplish?”

He must have been really tired if he was spilling his guts to you. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.

“Do I need to accomplish something?” Answer another question with a question, your dad’s voice lectured in your mind. Don’t ever let them see weakness.

“I would think so,” His voice was silk, rushing over your ears, causing you to relax your own guard much more than you wanted. “Unless you are idiotic enough to gain romantic inhibitions to your captor.”

“Well then I shall say the same to you,” You countered. “How does one gain such feelings toward their captive?”

“Touche,” He laughed before regaining his quiet. You grew worried. He had never been this sober before. Was there something seriously wrong?

“I am never letting you go,” He said suddenly. You blinked, but didn’t reply. His grip on your hand grew slightly tighter. “My sweet, submissive subject.”

You couldn’t help the adamant scowl that pulled your lips. Submissive??

“But you’re not,” He amended, watching the change in your face, eyebrows furrowing in uncertainty. “You have fire. And intelligence, almost. You are the strangest woman I have ever met.”

You stared back, struck speechless by his gaze. And for the first time, you found yourself leaning forward as well when he captured your lips with his, deepening the embrace till you grew hot with passion and thoughtless as you were pressed down into the mattress.

* * *

A knock on the door.

“George,” you said immediately. “Yo-”

An unfamiliar man stood there instead, a complacent smile on his face. You cleared your throat after staring in surprise.

“Ah, hello,” The man said, voice a deep richness, lines between his eyes that betrayed the amount of times he smiled.

There was a certain twinkle in those eyes as he walked towards you, his steps kept together and his back straight. He lifted a tape measure. “I am merely your new tailor, madame. Please let down your guard.”

You vaguely wondered what had happened to the other woman but nodded, loosening the tightness in your shoulders.

He was gentle as he lifted your arms and zipped around you, wrapping the measure around your waist and up your side. As he lifted your hair to stretch the surface of the material against you neck, he began to speak again.

“May I ask you your name, miss?”

“Y/N,” You said quietly.

“Lovely,” he complimented, and it wasn’t sleazy in any way, but completely genuine.

“Thank you,” A heat flushed up your neck and pooled in your cheeks at the gesture.

“Where did you get it?”

“My…father said it was the first thing he thought of when he gazed at my eyes,” You murmured, mood dampened extremely.

He hummed. “Interesting. I’m sure Washington wouldn’t like to hear you sound so downcast speaking of it though.”

You tensed. “What?” You tried to get away from the man but his hold on your shoulder increased so that you couldn’t - yet it was still somehow gentle.

“I mean what I said.” Then his voice dropped even lower, and he was whispering in your ear, even as he continued to look to an outsider as if he were taking your measurements. “Your father has sent for you. I will leave the door open when I leave, and you must follow my instructions.”

You nodded, befuddled, but feeling hope bubble up in your chest.

“Good. Now go left, and continue for about fifty feet before making a right then immediate right again. You will run into a baker, who is not one at all, and he will lead you out of the castle and to the harbour where a ship awaits to take you back to the mainland. Keep your head down, and your face hidden. Walk as if you have a destination, but do not stand out.”

You could only nod again, overwhelmed but committing every word to your memory.

“Oh and,” He straightened, hanging the measure around his neck once more. A wink was sent your way, a cheeky grin making it onto his handsome face. “Good luck.”

He went to walk out the door but you stopped him.

“W-Wait!” You said. He stopped and you stammered. “May I have your name?”

He contemplated for a second before smirking. “Mulligan. Hercules Mulligan. Now make haste Y/N Washington.”

With that he had swept out like he was never there, footsteps light and making no sound.

You stood there, watching the indeed open door, mind racing a mile a minute.

A tailor spying on the British government? Was this a trick? Was George seeing if you would run away given the chance? Or was this real? Were you really being rescued?

You turmoil-ed over the notion for several more seconds but every moment that grew on had you looking at the sliver of light shining in from the open door..

You made your choice.

And with that you slipped out the door.

* * *

“Ready, Madame?”

You jumped. “Huh? Ah yes…”

The baker-but-not-really, held out a hand, the sea-spray of the harbour assaulting your nose, and the wind whipping your hair. He had a foot aboard the plank of the ship, but you were still on the ground. You rose one foot but were confused when you paused. What were you waiting for? Wasn’t this freedom?

Brown eyes, and a childish grin, feet skipping out of the room.

No.

_No._

You didn’t - you couldn’t -

 _Please no_ , you thought. _I couldn’t possibly be…_

The smell of his skin, incense and mint, the sensation of his mouth on yours.

You wanted to rip your hair out.  **NO.** _This wasn’t happening._

You blamed the salty air for your eyes tearing up as you accepted your helper’s hand and stepped up onto the ship.

You blamed the rocking of the boat and sea sickness for the lurching of your heart as England’s harbour grew further away.

You closed your eyes and thought of your father’s smile, drowning out everything else.

You were going home.

* * *

“ _Where is she?!”_

The adviser grimaced as another vase crashed to the floor.

“Sir-” Another crash, this time the desk against the wall, broken and tumbling to the ground. The sheets were torn, curtains ripped apart. “We can only assume she is back in the west. She was seen by a witness with a man in a baker’s attire, heading towards the harbour.”

King George grew unnaturally calm. “The harbour? Was she struggling? Putting up a fight?”

The adviser stepped back, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. “N-No sir. It is most probable she simply fled. She was a prisoner after all.”

“Fled…She fled…” King George mumbled, chuckling. The adviser swallowed, bowing slightly and excusing himself from the room in rightful fear of his life for delivering the news.

King George was a mess, hair in chaos, his crown on the floor, his whole body quivering in mad laughter.

An image of you smiling back home and expressing your freedom, taunted him. Betrayal and anger stirred deep in his chest but all he did was laugh.

His palm covered his face as he trembled, now bellowing full rolls of hysterics. “She  _fled!_ ”

The laughs simmered down to giggles as he braced himself against a wall, smiling through the spaces of his fingers.

“Y/N…oh Y/N…” A psychotic glint passed his eyes, white teeth splitting his lips in a grin. “You think you’ve escaped…”

You jumped into your father’s arms, feeling yourself encased in his strong hold as he kissed you all over, warm in his embrace. Yet you felt as if something was incomplete, apprehension still hanging over you as a tension you couldn’t shake.

“ _This is just the beginning.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Also, this is the first time I realized King George and Washingdad have the same name as I was writing. I’m an idiot.


End file.
